


Shame

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ficlet, Gen, M/M, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5003380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some poor dwarf didn’t guard their fanfiction well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shame

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Young Thorin used to write smutty fanfics. Everyone lives,the Company discovers his writings,while collecting the remaining documents of Erebor.(Thorin either completely forgot about his old shame, or remembered and tried to find them first). +Bilbo or Ori gives him writing advices” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20993535#t20993535).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

With all the sights to see and all of Erebor’s restoration going on, it’s difficult for Bilbo to find time to see all his dwarves. He does his best, but excuses like menial errands help, and of course he agrees to distribute the evening meal with Bofur to those dwarves too dedicated to leave their posts. Balin and Ori are last up, perpetually hidden in the library—Bilbo hasn’t seen either for several days. He and Bofur take down a bowl of stew each—they always need one arm free when navigating Erebor’s halls, because there’s still so much rubble everywhere and too many places to trip.

They chatter on the way about unimportant things, like the cuteness of Bombur’s children and the logistics of getting doilies delivered here and how Bofur gets his mustache so perfectly curled. But they hush when they reach the dusty shelves of the library, because there’re often dwarves down here trying to work. 

They don’t see anyone right away and have to weave through several shelves before they find Balin and Ori, bent over an opened volume at a desk, so engrossed in their reading that they don’t notice Bofur and Bilbo’s approach. When Bofur chirps, “Dinner!” Ori jolts up with a start. He’s red across his cheeks, hot enough to match his hair, so Bofur naturally asks, “What’re you reading?” Bilbo quietly divests them both of their loads, setting the bowls down before Balin, who smiles in thanks.

“Nothing,” Ori squeaks, and he tries to gather up the book, Balin quickly stepping out of the way, before Bofur lunges at it. Ori spins to hold the book shut behind him.

“Let me see it,” Bofur insists, clearly spurred on by Ori’s antics, while Balin just chuckles and picks up his food. Ori tries to turn away from him and make a run for it, but Bilbo’s standing on the other side, and Bofur uses that momentary setback to snatch the book out of Ori’s fingers. He immediately opens it to a random page and reads aloud, “ _The prince swooned at the bulging muscles before him. He’d never seen a dwarf so chiseled before, and the knight’s pecs seemed to do a victory dance just for the prince as the knight towered over the dead wolf, his hammer in its skull. As the knight lifted the carcass over his shoulders to toss across the plain, the remainder of his tunic ripped off from the sheer size of his abs. Then he stepped forward to take the prince into his arms, and the prince could feel the knight’s erotic bulge thrumming against his thigh._ ”

Bofur stops for a moment, staring blankly at the pages, while Ori covers his face in his hands and lets out an embarrassed whimper. Bilbo’s face is as red as Ori’s. Bofur’s wearing an expression of mingled horror and glee.

“Settle down,” Balin chuckles, as Bofur turns to Ori. “We found it misplaced in the history section. It was clearly written by a very young dwarf with a very... ah... active imagination.”

“I’d like to meet this young dwarf,” Balin announces, a grin tugging at his lips. He turns back to the book, continuing, “ _The prince moaned and thrust his own hips forward against the knight, but then the knight wavered. He was fierce but noble, and they both knew that if they returned, the king would not allow them to wed. Even as the prince twisted his finger’s in the knight’s thick beard, the knight turned his head away, the restrained lust and sorrow in his eyes as majestic as his tattoos that glittered in the sun_.”

As amused as Bofur looks, he’s clearly not as invested as Ori and Balin were, because he notices footsteps coming and stops. Bilbo turns to peak around the isle, hoping it’s no one they know, but Dori and Nori show up a minute later, Dori announcing, “Ori, are you finished your studies yet? We were thinking of talking to Fíli about accompanying him to Dale.” When Ori just shakes his head, still hidden behind his hands, Dori switches to a concerned: “What’s wrong?”

Nori’s already at Bofur’s side, having been tugged over, and the two of them pour over the book with barely restrained laughter. Bofur opens his mouth, but Bilbo says, “Bofur—” only for Dori to glance at it and mouth, paling, _‘erotic bulge.’_

“Bofur,” he immediately cuts in, far louder that Bilbo, “Don’t read that filth around Ori! He still has his innocence!”

“I didn’t know it was going to end up like that,” Ori whimpers, while Balin chuckles and takes another spoonful of stew. Ori’s is getting cold on the table. Bilbo’s debating taking the book either to fulfill his morbid curiosity or to properly hide; obviously, the poor author never finished this work and didn’t mean it for reading. 

More footsteps, and suddenly Dwalin’s standing behind Dori, looking over his shoulder to ask, “Ori, did you want to try that weapon’s training we talked about?”

Nori cuts in, “You lived here before, right?”

Dwalin blinks at him before grunting suspiciously, “Yes.”

“Lovely. Do you know anyone who wrote this bad: _“The prince mouthed at the knight’s jaw, but the knight would not see it, so the prince, in gratitude for the slaying of the wolf and arousal for the knight’s radiant handsomeness, dropped to his knees and tore the knight’s trousers down with his teeth before engulfing the knight’s penis in his mouth.”_?”

Somewhere in the middle, Dori squeezes past Bilbo to reach Ori, clamp big hands over his ears, and insist, “Stop it!”

For some reason, perhaps just a protective instinct for a fellow author, Bilbo mumbles, “Nori, it isn’t _that_ terrible; it just needs a few better word choices—”

Dwalin just looks over, and Bofur and Nori extend the book to him. Then his eyes go wide, and he mutters right over Bilbo, “That’s Thorin’s writing!”

“What?!” Nori shouts, instantly grabbing it closer to stare at, while Bofur leans in, mouth as wide open as Bilbo’s.

“ _Thorin_ wrote dirty stories?”

“I thought his writing was neater,” Ori muses, Dori’s hands evidently not muffling enough.

Dwalin opens his mouth to answer, but Balin scolds suddenly, “Dwalin, honestly, you should’ve kept that to yourself.”

Dwalin splutters, “I didn’t...” and is abruptly red-cheeked beneath all his scruff. It’s probably the first time Bilbo’s ever seen him be chastised, and he looks truly abashed. Bilbo’s mainly _shocked._

Bofur and Nori are now reading it to themselves rather than aloud, and Bilbo thinks that’s probably how it should be. As much as he might guiltily like to hear the rest—he’s not sure whether for a laugh or genuine interest; he’s been somewhat starved for fiction as of late—ultimately, Bilbo’s conscience wins out. It would be quite rude to listen to someone’s personal fantasies without them knowing. So he turns to try and push past Dwalin and leave, only to spot Thorin headed down the row of shelves. He’s reached them too soon for them to do anything.

All eyes except Bofur’s, who’s still reading, instantly snap to him, and Dori, steering Ori by the shoulders, hurriedly pushes past them to leave. On the way, Ori mumbles sheepishly to Thorin, “You should press your quill a little harder to the page on your accent p—” but then Dori’s got him out of earshot.

Thorin, looking back at them in wonderment, grumbles curiously, “What was that about?” Then, as he notices the rest, “What are you all looking at me like that for?”

“This is about Dwalin!” Bofur suddenly exclaims, jolting up, “It’s Thorin and Dwalin!”

It’s hard to tell who’s redder: Thorin or Dwalin. Maybe Bilbo. He feels vaguely faint—he’s never witnessed a scandal like this in all his life, and he’s been friends with Gandalf. He’s also never seen Thorin looks so horrendously shocked and embarrassed.

A second of silence passes. Then Thorin lunges at Bofur so hard that they both go straight to the floor, wrestling wildly over the book, Nori knocked over in the process and just caught on the peripherals of it. When Bofur holds the book as far away from Thorin as he can, clearly too caught up in the moment to realize he’s just defied his king, Bilbo snatches the book up on instinct.

Despite the wild urge to clutch it to his chest and _run_ , he stands still until Thorin’s clambered up and whipped it out of his hands. Bilbo should really say nothing, but somehow winds up squeaking, “The narrative is decent, you should just—”

“I was young!” Thorin shouts, spitting fury. “It was a long time ago, I didn’t—I wouldn’t—it’s not—” then he looks at Dwalin, nearly breathing steam through his nose. 

Numbly, Dwalin asks, “How does it end?”

Thorin _stares_ at him. Dwalin stares back, Bofur and Nori sit on the floor in disappointment, Balin eats his soup, and Bilbo tries not to faint.

Then Thorin grunts, “I hear Kíli calling me—it must be important—I have to go—” and he bolts like a warg on fire.


End file.
